Lyridia. That's where they told me I would find him.

Dudic Friedlander, sage of the lost.

An archivist of some renown, who had spent nearly all of his ninety years in this world digging through the ruins of civilizations lost. Collecting books, artifacts, and--most importantly--secrets from those who preceded us. Delicious, dangerous secrets.

I had an address. I had an appointment. I had him right where I wanted him.

A few weeks ago, I sent him a letter requesting an audience to discuss some findings in some Durklan ruins deep within the Red Forest. I bullshitted my way through most of the letter, fabricating treasures and artifacts that I would present to him for further study. And bless that old fart's soul, he believed me. He hastily responded, his chicken scratch handwriting nearly illegible, agreeing to a meeting at my earliest convenience.

I was on the first boat out of Tirel. I brought nothing with me but a burning question that I must have answered.

I moved swiftly through the streets of Lornius's port city, wrapped up in a black robe held tightly around my body, hood covering my face. I avoided eye contact with everyone that passed me by as I walked down those busy cobblestone streets. I squinted against the harsh wind and rain that poured down as I moved with purpose. The gods decided to set a proper backdrop for the events that would soon transpire.

It wasn't long until I found myself at my destination. It was a small, two story house that looked like it could've used some work and a fresh coat of paint. Candles were lit in every window, through which I could make out shelves upon shelves of books, trinkets, scrolls, and other things that the scholar collected. I hastily climbed the stone steps and rapped on his door with my briar-knit fist.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," a hoarse voice sounded from within.

Seconds later, the door opened, revealing a shriveled old man with skin like parchment and eyes that shone with a youthful energy and natural curiosity. The scholar smiled as he greeted me. "Ah, come in, please. You must be Madison."

I stepped through the door, quietly shut it behind me, and immediately pushed the old man to the floor. He tumbled through a stack that had been assembled near a love seat, scattering books, journals, and parchments every which way. I caught him off guard--it was clear on his face.

"Wh-what is happening?!" he stammered. "What are you doing?"

A burning question, that I must have answered.

The lead pipe that smashed in the skull of Erikar Impossiblename appeared in my right hand. "Can I have your brain?"